Enamor
by Madame Toot
Summary: A brown haired girl named Emma Berkowitz travels to Camp Crystal Lake to work for three kids. She plans her presumed death all the while, but what will happen when death never comes? Jason Emma
1. The Attic

**Enamor**

This is my second fanfiction. I recommend you read "Demented" first, my Nightmare on Elm Street fanfiction, otherwise Emma's friend Elvira will be unfamiliar to you. They are intersected many times throughout. I don't own Friday the 13th. I only own Emma, Elvira, and those pricks. (You will recognize these pricks later) Rated M for violence, swearing, and (perhaps) smut later on. Anyway, enjoy, and I hope to God Emma isn't a Mary-Sue. Let's provide some insight on Emma before we proceed.

Name: Emma Berkowitz (contrary to Demented)

Age: 23

Appearance: icy blue drooping eyes, shoulder-length messy chocolate hair, pale skin, average body-shape, petite figure

Clothing: Buckled black shoes, grey tights, long lacy black dress with buttons at the torso and long-sleeves, a black transparent shawl (Aristocrat/Victorian fashion, if I may)

Chapter 1: The Attic

Elvira had just left though the door mentioning something about taking a piss on her body if she died. Emma sat shocked for a moment, but ignored this, as this was Elvira's average behavior. Dread consumed Emma's thoughts. She was going to be a maid for three classmates taking a trip to New Jersey. This wasn't the worst part; these three were the average 'jerk & whore' group, not to mention they were camping in a campsite from where nearly nobody returned alive.

"But eight dollars an hour is worth it," Emma argued with her dread. She sat still for a moment, trying to comprehend what else might make the two weeks worth while. Her results came up as nothing. Emma shuffled into her room to pack. She opened her suitcase and stuffed inside clothes, a nightgown, hygiene equipment, a multitude of books, (including children's books she had owned since early childhood) blankets, and her assortment of health pills. Vitamin D for her lack of sunshine, Fluoxetine for her Autism, and various illegal drugs that Elvira had somehow managed to smuggle from a Mexican convenience store now littered her suitcase. "What makes her think I would use drugs?" she said to herself while snatching Elvira's drugs from the suitcase.

She certainly wasn't going to miss her house; a single-story, hideously yellow, nearly windowless, one-bedroom flat. However, it was the cheapest on the market, and unpopular pianists didn't usually make that much money. Plus mortgage was very low, which was convenient. She had only spent about a year in this house after graduating college with a degree in music. A cabin would be a refreshing change.

A large school bus stopped at her house and honked. The three kids from inside motioned her to hurry. Emma locked her door and stopped at the sliding door. As the door nearly closed in on her she asked "Where on Earth did you get a bus?" Trevor shooed her to the back and said "I got it from my bus driver uncle." Lindsay held two fingers to her nose. "What a filthy bus! I hope we're not spending two weeks in here!" Jake put an arm around her. "Don't worry, babe, it will be way more comfortable in our cabin. Our 'plans' for tonight won't be ruined." Lindsay giggled while Emma nearly gagged. What kind of people, she thought, have sex without loving their mate?

She gazed from the fogged windows and dreamed of the plentiful childhood she never had.

_A chocolate haired girl with droopy, disfigured eyes beheld the street below from the rainy attic window. She spent most of her time doing this, and nothing more. People who walked by caught her gaze and quickly strode away while muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "creepy eyes." She didn't stay in this dwelling because she was forced to. She had no desire to meet again with her prostitute mother. Every day, the conceited woman would deliver a small supper of orange juice, beans, and Emma's daily pills. Not that she was complaining, though. She loved orange juice, pulp-free or not. Whenever her mother was gone for "work," she snuck downstairs and rummaged through the fridge for anything that was even remotely like orange juice. Everything besides apple juice; she hated that bitter taste with a passion._

_The only time Emma even came out of the house was for school. That was twice as bad, as most kids gossiped about her eyes. "Maybe her dad was a mutant," they would say. She had only seen him once in her life when she was seven. He appeared at their doorstep and groveled at her mother's feet, asking for another chance with him, like she was a divine goddess. He didn't seem to understand that their relationship was a one-night-stand. Her mother pushed Emma to him and told him, rather bluntly, that this was his daughter. "You made me have this freak of nature," she said to him. He was a rather odd looking man; he had brown messy hair that swept over his dull, curved green eyes. He was tall and lanky as if he had never eaten before. His pale and hollow face would have been handsome if it wouldn't have had his bones protruding from his sallow skin like a thin white sheet wrapped tightly around his skull._

_The odd man looked up to Emma and his upwards-curved eyes grew wide. "That's right, Thomas, this is your daughter." Tears spilled onto his cheeks. "She has your beautiful lips, Candace," he sulked. Emma looked at her father. What a pathetic man, she thought. Thomas gazed into Emma's dreamy blue eyes, which were now narrowed at him with criticism. "You don't care about me, do you?" she asked him. "You never came to visit me. You only love mommy, am I correct? Get out of my sight, you negligent old man." Emma slammed the door and sprinted upstairs. She sat down on her piano stool and continued playing with her back hunched and her small fingers pounding madly at the keys. This piano was her only solitude and her only friend. The ceilings leaked, the wooden floor was moldy with age, and her mattress smelled of dust and moths, but that didn't matter. Nothing did anymore._

And here she was, on her way to Camp Crystal Lake, presumably to her death. Not that she cared; if the kids around her were disposed of, she would be satisfied. For what seemed like hours, she sat alone in the back of the bus and rubbed the fogged windows while the three jeered and Lindsay teased her choice of clothing. As if yours is any better, Emma thought; you pretty much dress in short-shorts, a see-through top, and nothing else besides your thong, filthy prostitute.

Anger loomed over her head but sadness soon replaced it. It wasn't fair to her how some received a winning deck of cards in the game of life, but others got nothing. Why did God make such a miserable world for us to live in? Emma slumped in her seat and dreamt of herself rising from a lake. A very large, shadowed, figure emerged from the earth next to the lake. In his hands was a large blood stained machete that he swung down onto the dirt. His faceless head turned to Emma and she jittered awake at the entrance to Camp Crystal Lake.


	2. Chip on the Shoulder

**Enamor**

For you people who are reading this story but not the other, read it! It has six chapters and its pretty quality work, if I do say so myself. I'm just that fond of myself. Enjoy this next chapter. Just an F.Y.I, I know Jason wouldn't really love anybody. This is fanfiction, a site for fiction. If you anti-Jason/OC people still want to flame, be my guest. Just use constructive criticism at least. I don't want my story insulted; I want to know how to improve. Thank you my best friend Mike for consulting me through this chapter and giving me inspiration. You're the reason I continued chapter two. I couldn't ask for a better friend. You and Katala are my sisters.

Chapter 2: Chip on the Shoulder

Trevor pulled the bus into to entrance of Camp Crystal Lake. The sign was hanging by rusty hinges and about to fall after a few more years of rotting. Emma could have sworn she saw a figure as they entered, but as she glanced back, it was gone. The three walked off the bus with their luggage and closed the door. Emma pried the door open. Fortunately, it wasn't in its best condition. Jake moved his hand to Lindsay's buttocks and Lindsay giggled flirtatiously while batting her eyelashes. Emma held her hands to their retreating necks, pretending to strangle them.

"Hey, goth girl! Bring our shit inside!" Trevor shouted back to Emma. He threw his suitcase to her feet. The force of the case stubbed her toes. She gasped but clenched her teeth and continued to carry the luggage to the cabin, being extra careful to remove various CDs from Trevor's case and whip them at the trees. She chuckled to herself. "No more 'Green Day' for him," she cooed.

"This is Lindsay's room, that's Trevor's room, and that's my room," Jake said to her once she entered, pointing to the three doors. "Don't fuck up whose shit is whose." "Where will I sleep?" Emma asked. "The couch. Just clean it up after you're done with it. Don't want you gothin' it up." Jake and Trevor slapped hands. While the three watched the large television in the living room, Emma proceeded to sort objects into their rightful places. As she swept the floors afterward, she felt someone peering at her. She looked out the window but couldn't tell from the dark.

Jason Voorhees peered at the brown haired woman from the bushes. He would kill her friends as soon as she went to sleep. The young couple would undoubtedly be having intercourse. He could scare her when she discovered the bloody bodies in their bed. Why though, was she working while the others watched television and drank beer? He noticed she didn't wear what the girls who entered his domain usually wore. She wore a black, old-fashioned aristocrat dress with buckled boots and long sleeves. He approached the building for a closer look.

Emma approached the three teens. "I'm done with my chores. Can I have my eight dollars?" "The hour isn't over yet. Get us some grub," Trevor ordered. So that's why she was here, Jason thought. She was being paid. Emma dragged herself to the kitchen and began to slice bread and slather peanut butter on the slices. The complete sandwiches were assorted on a platter with grapes. Emma grinned, satisfied with her perfectly assembled dinner and brought the platter back to the group.

"What is this," Lindsay sniffed, picking up a sandwich. "They're peanut butter sandwiches." Emma replied. "Fucking sandwiches? We didn't want fucking sandwiches!" Trevor slapped the tray out of Emma's hands. The platter landed with a crash and the sandwiches flew to her head. Lindsay chuckled at Emma's peanut butter covered face. "Make us some pizza or something," Jake interjected. Emma fled back to the kitchen with the destroyed dinner and leaned over the sink. She started to scrub her face with soapy water

Jason now knew that Emma was treated like a freak. Not just by them, but by everyone else considering her tilted eyes. She was different. The water dripping into the sink wasn't the soapy water she splashed herself with. It was her tears. Emma raised her head up and brushed the tears away, recovering from her sadness. She closed her eyes and raised her left sleeve up. She began to trace the veins on her wrist with her right hand. She sighed and went to the fridge to find supplies for the dinner. That must be a method of calming herself down, Jason thought.

Emma made the pepperoni pizza with extreme precision. "Why don't I add poison to the pepperoni?" she said to herself with a grim smile. Without thinking, she tried to take the pizza out without oven mittens and burned her finger tips. She gasped and quickly ran them under cold water. "This hasn't been my day," she groaned. Emma finally managed to take it out and bring it to the awaiting group. She set it on the table before them and plopped down in a chair next to the couch. Trevor snickered. "Hey Jake, what's the difference between a Jew and a pizza?" Emma stiffened in her seat. "Pizzas don't scream when you put them in the oven," Jake finished for him, both laughing. Emma dug her fingernails into the edges of the armrests. "Excuse me, I'm Jewish. That was probably the most horrifying and disgusting time in history, so don't poke fun at it," Emma said as she seethed behind gritted teeth. "Who asked you? Jews are ugly with their big noses anyway," Lindsay concluded.

Jake continued these jokes. "How do you fit ten Jews in a four-person car? Put them in the ashtray." Trevor burst out laughing. Emma rashly stood up. Her normally pale face was scarlet with outrage. "Stop it, NOW!" she shouted at them. Trevor grabbed her by her shoulders and shoved her to the mud out the door. Tears trickled down her face but not with woe, instead fury. Trevor slammed the door. Lindsay chuckled and said "Come on Jakey, I'm bored of her. Let's go have some fun." Jake smirked and led her to the bedroom. Emma stood, still shaking in the rain. Trevor was resting on the couch, listening to his ipod and naively thinking she had left. She quietly opened the door and stood there, glowering at him. His eyes were closed and his music was blaring.

Emma stalked over to the fireplace and took a poker from the side. She let it heat in the fire for a while until it was glowing red. She stood and walked over to the reclined Trevor. He opened his eyes and said "What the fuck are you still do-," Emma shoved the poker through his throat. He opened his mouth in agony but no sound came out. She looked at her hands, the death just dawning on her. She sprinted out the door. Jason watched her leave and asked _why is she leaving? _He opened the door to the cabin and the body of the black haired teen was laying there with a sizzling poker through his neck. He was still alive and gagging, trying to scream. Blood was everywhere. His eyes met Jason's towering figure and they widened. Jason took the poker from his throat and drove it into his skull. His body fell limp.

Emma's dress was covered in mud and Trevor's blood. She limped to a cabin with the door open. The lights were dimmed. A grand piano stood in the corner. She sat herself down at the moth-eaten stool and began to play maddening tunes, her back hunched. After a few minutes, Jason looked through the window and saw the killer woman. The music that bled from the piano was beautiful but angry. The woman soon calmed down and played "Moonlight Sonata." After a few minutes, Lindsay came bursting through the door. "Jason killed Trevor! The stories were right! You're next," she shrieked.

"Jason who?" Emma replied

"Jason Voorhees! He's the killer who killed all those people!"

Emma rolled her eyes.

"It's true," she cried. "He's some retarded kid who threw himself in the lake and now he's back for his revenge!"

"That's ridiculous. Dead children stay dead. It's a myth. And I'd fondly appreciate it if you paid some respect to the poor kid, by not calling him 'retarded,' for example," Emma scolded. "And if he does exist, what he's doing is right, killing sex obsessed teenagers just like you."

"What are you talking about?" Lindsay asked.

"This," Emma said as she brought a fist down on Lindsay's head, just hard enough to knock her out. "So I can show you your dead boyfriend." Emma picked Lindsay up by her arms and started to drag her out the door. As she reached the doorway, a tall menacing figure met her eyes, a machete raised in his hand.


End file.
